I’ve been thinking a lot about belief lately. Specifically, the philosophical ideas of Wisconsin chemist Allen R. Utke on the interplay between science and spirituality, have been bouncing around my mind ever since I did my deep dive into his work.

If you haven’t read my two-part feature on Utke, which I highly encourage you to do, I’ll briefly summarize his thinking. Utke saw in humanity two opposing forces with the same goal — to understand the universe. Spirituality is on one side of this scale, which knows the world through story, myth and religion. On the other side is science, which knows the world through examination, manipulation and reaction. Neither is better than the other, but both exist within the human mind. Ideally, each would balance out the other. However, throughout human history, this has seldom happened.

Utke said that in humanity’s early years, the spiritual understanding of the universe dominated, and this is where we get the world’s great myths and religions. In humanity’s back half, he saw the scientific mind running amok to great distress. He saw a world growing so dominated by the scientific mind that humanity might unduly cause great harm to the planet and itself if the scales were not rebalanced.

“The author [Utke] believes it can be argued that a limited, amoral scientific method, employed by human beings with an over emphasis on an ‘encompass’ philosophy of continued, unregulated ‘growth’ or ‘progress’ for the sake of enriching our outer lives with a materialistic preponderance of ‘things’ has created 1.) unprecedented physical problems in nature; 2.) moral and ethical crises and ‘is-caught’ problems of unprecedented nature, extent, and magnitude; 3.) a resultant increasing societal complexity, confusion, disorientation, narcissism, hedonism, and nihilism which now threatens to not only destroy Western civilization but all civilization as well,” Utke wrote in 1986.

Some 39 years later, it’s hard to argue that Utke was wrong; I would say his observations were more prescient than he might have even thought at the time.

As I write this on Feb. 6, 2025, I woke up to the aftermath of a small ice storm. By 10 a.m., as I hit the road for an appointment, it was mostly melted and drying. The sun was beaming and set to raise the daily temperature to a high of 40 degrees, close to double the previous day’s. A week prior, on Jan. 30, the daily high hit 60 degrees.

I mused on Bluesky as the temps climbed on Jan. 30 about the time my mom took pictures of my sister and me riding our bikes in the yard in January. At that time in the late 1990s/early 2000s, it was unheard of there would be no snow on the ground in Wisconsin.

Now, there hasn’t been snow on the ground that’s lasted more than a week this entire winter season. Unprecedented physical problems in nature, indeed.

The Kollapse

Utke is far from the first to worry that for all the good science and technology provides, a dark turn might one day come. Author Brian Evenson explores these themes in his literary horror fiction, which often revolves around the price one pays for hubris and ignorance.

A reoccurring setting in Evenson’s stories — which range from novels to short stories — is a post-human world devastated by something referred to only as the “Kollapse.” What the Kollapse exactly entailed is always left vague. However, Evenson makes two things clear. One, it’s poisoned the planet to such an extent that what little life remains afterward is so twisted it might as well be alien. And two, humans caused it.

Hallmarks of the Kollapse include poisoned ground so toxic just the dust from it kills, wastelands filled with life prone to spontaneous mutation and the ruined hints of a sci-fi world destroyed by its own creators’ hands.

In his 2021 collection of stories, “The Glassy, Burning Floor of Hell,” Evenson gives us a rare look into the Kollapse as it’s happening.

Titled “Curator,” the short story follows a character referred to only as the archivist as she’s left behind on Earth to preserve a record of humanity, both written and biological, as other survivors leave for the stars. It’s a death sentence for her, with the winds blowing a cloud of poison that “… stripped the flesh off any creature, living or dead, and then whittled away at the bones” toward her.

In her final hours, the archivist wrestles with the morality of preserving a species that caused so much destruction and struggles, knowing that her work could one day result in its resurrection. Evenson writes her as thinking:

“Here is how monstrous humans are, she felt the record should say. Humans are what they did to this world, their home. Here is why, once humans are extinct, they should never be brought back to life.”

Evenson’s world of the Kollapse shares similarities with Utke’s warnings of what may happen in a scientific world with no balance. Notably, Evenson holds a Ph. D. in literature and critical theory, and often explores his religious upbringing through his work, so it might be no surprise the author has come to similar ideas as Utke.

So, if Kollapse is one side tipped too far, and a world ruled by myth risks stalling human progress, then what does balance truly look like? And, crucially, do we have the time left to find it?

Rebalancing Belief

Recent crises gripping the world cast doubt on the relevance of examining folklore and cultural narratives — the very subjects of much of my writings here. In the face of such challenges, their significance may seem uncertain. I find myself sometimes asking, “What role do these stories play amid unfolding catastrophes?”

This is not a new concern. As the world has become increasingly STEM-focused (science, technology, engineering and mathematics), the humanities have had to continually justify their existence and role in modern society.

There is an added stigma when dealing with the kinds of stories STEM disciplines often dismiss as nonsense — folklore, myth and people’s belief in otherworldly phenomena. Yet, these are precisely what Utke would argue are needed to prevent the world from suffering collapse.

Compared to STEM majors, the humanities aren't important at all, as everyone knows.I mean…unless you want to understand humanity, obviously. But that's dumb.

— Existential Comics (@existentialcomics.com) 2025-01-29T17:37:35.181Z

So, what role do these stories play today, and what role should they play in the future?

Today, they’re often marginalized and sometimes dangerous. There is a real problem with how unchecked belief can distort consensus reality, fueling conspiracy theories, pseudoscience and misinformation. The issue isn’t belief itself, but the lack of discernment needed to engage with it critically.

For example, Wisconsin’s famous Hodag was the creation of Gene Shepard, a well-known practical joker. Yet today, some treat it as a real cryptid. In the grand scheme of things, this belief is mostly harmless — but it illustrates how easily historical facts are disregarded in favor of a good story.

Perhaps this very marginalization has allowed belief in the otherworldly to become unmoored, losing the communal grounding that once gave it meaning and reason. Folklore, at its core, emerges from community and tradition — it is a way of understanding the world, not distorting it.

When Utke examines the interplay between the two mindsets, he draws a key distinction that separates them, despite both having the same goal. The spiritual sees humanity’s place in relation to the world — connection to the land, for example — while the scientific sees it in terms of what can be manipulated in the world.

The scientific mind, left unchecked, dominates and manipulates, often without regard for long-term consequences, Utke thought. But on the other hand, when embraced outright, the spiritual mind can drift into delusion.

Folklore and cultural narratives, at their best, do not reject science but remind us of our place within the world rather than above it. When understood critically and communally, they connect people to the land, history and each other. Perhaps the role of belief in the future is not to oppose science, but to provide it the missing piece Utke saw it lacked — a sense of responsibility, meaning and connection.

Utke warned of a world tipping too far off balance. In some regards, his warnings are turning out to be all too true. We can turn to stories to see where this path might lead humanity — Kollaspe — and we might also turn to stories to save ourselves.

If Utke is right, reconnecting with humanity’s place in the world through our shared, communal narratives may be necessary for survival. The question is, has the balance already tipped beyond repair?